


Miles to Go

by inkgeek



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Ableist Language, Gen, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7583641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkgeek/pseuds/inkgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to a booking error, Chibs and Tig have to share a hotel room. The problem is... it's the honeymoon suite. And Tig is a cuddler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miles to Go

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of garbage has been sitting in my wip folder for over a year under the title "motorcycle trash." I don't think it's going to turn into an epic novel or anything so... here it is. Unbeta'd and unfinished.

“Are you shittin’ me?”

“I’m sorry we lost your reservation, sir, but that’s all we have left. There’s a business conference in town.” Jax leans over the counter and looks at the computer screen. Sure enough, there are only two rooms that aren’t filled. “I have one with two queens and the honeymoon suite. That has one California king,” the desk manager explains.

“I guess that’ll have to do.”

 

Jax saunters back to the parking lot. “What’s the word, brother?” Clay calls as he approaches.

“Bad. They have rooms, but we’ll have to double up.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” says Tig, “We always double up.”

“One’s the honeymoon suite,” Jax replies. The others groan. “We can draw straws, I guess.”

“Hell naw,” says Clay, “I’m the goddamn president! I ain’t sharin’ a bed with another man.” Jax and Clay both look to Tig and Chibs.

“I’m secure enough in my sexuality to share a bed with this fuckin’ pervert,” says Chibs after a beat. Tig scoffs in mock offense.

“Like I’d try anything with you, ya ugly fuck!”

 

At least the honeymoon suite has perks. There is a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice on the dresser and matching “Mr. & Mrs.” bathrobes laid out on the bed. “After you, m’lady,” Chibs says in a posh British accent.

“Oh, so I’m the chick?” Tig drops his bag on the floor and takes a flying leap onto the bed, twisting in mid air to land on his back. “Nice.” Chibs picks up Tig’s bag and tosses it at him. “Fuck you!” Tig wheezes, rubbing his chest where the bag had landed.

“You wanna shower first?” Chibs puts his own bag next to the bed and goes to investigate the champagne. It’s not a cheap brand but it ain’t exactly Dom Perignon either. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Tig sits up and rummages in his bag for a moment before grabbing the “Mrs.” robe and heading for the bathroom. “Don’t drink all the champagne, sweetheart!” he teases.

“I won’t, Mrs. Telford!” Chibs jibes back as the bathroom door closes. Tig’s muffled reply makes him chuckle.

“I’m keeping my maiden name!”

 

The champagne cork doesn’t shoot across the room in a shower of froth like it always does in the movies. Chibs knows the proper way to open it. Letting it froth over is just a waste of good booze. He looks at the delicate champagne flutes and snorts. He takes a swig straight from the bottle. A little drier than he’d like, but not bad. 

He takes off his kutte and drapes it neatly over the armchair in the corner. Chibs grabs the remote for the sixty inch flat screen across from the bed and starts channel surfing, nursing the champagne bottle all the while. No pay per view or Skinemax, but it’s got Velocity. That’s better than nothing. 

_ Wheeler Dealers _ is on. Edd China is explaining how to take the exhaust off an older model Peugeot when the bathroom door opens. Tig is wearing the robe untied and only has black boxer briefs on underneath. His dark hair is wet and slicked back. A few curls are already starting to spring back up. “You’re up, brother,” he says, tossing his clothes on the desk in a heap. 

 

The champagne bottle is empty and Tig is sound asleep when Chibs returns from the bathroom freshly shaven and squeaky clean. He’s sprawled out across most of the bed and drooling a little. “Budge over, fuck wit,” says Chibs. He gives Tig’s outer thigh a gentle swat. Tig wakes halfway up and moves over.

Chibs pulls down his plain white t-shirt where it’s ridden up on his damp skin before clambering in beside Tig. He turns off the light before settling back against the pillows with one arm folded behind his head. He’s just starting to drift off when he feels Tig roll over. Next thing he knows, Tig has an arm draped across him. 

“The fuck you doin’?” 

“Mmmm” is the only reply he gets. He shoves Tig back to his own side of the bed and tries to settle back down.

It isn’t long before he feels a hand on his hip. The hand slides across his stomach, moving upward and bringing his t-shirt with it. “Tig.”

“Mmm?” Tig’s hand continues its exploration of Chibs’s torso. 

“What do ye what?”

“Nothin’.” Tig moves a little closer, wriggling under Chibs’s arm and laying his head on his chest. The scent of generic hotel shampoo wafts through the air.

“This don’t feel like nothin’.” Chibs puts his arm around Tig’s shoulder for lack of a better place to put it.

“It’s nothin’,” Tig assures him. He’s still running his hand all over Chibs, but to his credit, he doesn't go below the waistband of Chibs’s boxers.

“Fine,” Chibs sighs, “but you gotta keep to your own side o’ the bed after this, okay?” He’s still not sure what “this” is, though. If things get too freaky he’ll just break Tig’s nose and make him sleep on the floor.

“Yeah, okay.” 

It’s been a long time since anyone touched Chibs like this. All the cuddling he’s ever done has been with women and most of that had been post-coital. Still, Tig’s calloused hand is warm and soothing. The patterns he’s tracing are almost enough to make Chibs drift off again. 

“How’d you get this scar?”

“Hmm?”

“This scar on your belly.” Tig runs his finger along the scar that starts just below Chibs’s breastbone and ends about an inch above his navel. “I don’t think I’ve noticed it before now. What’s it from?”

“Knife fight.”

“You get in a lot of fuckin’ knife fights don’t you?” Tig muses. 

“Aye,” Chibs sighs, “I do.” Tig is quiet again for awhile. There isn’t much feeling in the jagged strip of flesh, but the pressure of Tig’s fingers as he runs them up and down the scar is kinda nice.

“You ever fucked a dude?” 

Chibs takes his arm off Tig’s shoulders and looks down at him. “What the hell kind o’ question is that?” Tig rolls onto his back and lets out a bark of a laugh.

“Ya think I’m propositioning you or somethin’?” he chuckles. Chibs makes a face. “Brother, I may be a fucked up son of a bitch but I ain’t retarded!” He folds his hands behind his head. “We got another 300 miles to ride tomorrow. I sure as hell don’t want to sit on a bike all day after having your big Scottish dick up my ass.”

Chibs shifts self-consciously. “I, er--”

“I mean, I’ll suck you off if you want, but no butt stuff.”


End file.
